


I Forgot That You Existed

by katehathaway



Series: Only Everything [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco helps her recover her memories and fall in love with him again, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione doesn't remember her life and marriage with Draco, Memory Loss, Multi, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Recovered Memories, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24737089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katehathaway/pseuds/katehathaway
Summary: Hermione suffers a traumatic brain injury that leaves her with little recollection as to what happened over the past five years. Including her marriage. Meanwhile, Draco spends every day helping her heal as well as trying to win her over… again.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter
Series: Only Everything [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788676
Comments: 4
Kudos: 122





	I Forgot That You Existed

—

WINTER

—

The blinding sunlight shone through the battered curtains causing her to blink several times. She winced from the sudden movement as her hand instinctively lifted to cover her face from the unwelcome light.

With a slight turn of her head away from windows, she noticed a pair of large, green eyes boring down on her.

"Good morning, dear."

She quickly noted the thick green robes on the elder woman and a voice in the back of her head reminded her that the woman who was currently adjusting some vials on her bedside table was a healer.

"I dare say, we were all wondering when you'd wake up." The woman smirked, then shot a disdainful look at her. "I can't say I'm pleased that Herbert has won the bet, but nevertheless I am delighted that you're finally awake!"

Her throat felt dry, but she managed to croak out a response.

"Finally awake?"

She twisted her head and ignored the pain that shot up the back of her skull to get a better look around the room.

The small, well-lit (Too well lit if you asked her. Honestly, how lucrative were their pockets to be able to fund _this_ insane amount of luminescence?) room had very little in it besides the cot in which she resided, a stuffy armchair in the corner, and the bedside table with the bounty of potions and vials.

"Where am I?"

"St. Mungo's, dear."

St. Mungo's.

That same voice in the back of her mind whispered something about the meaning of such a place in a very bookworm-textbook-ish phrase.

"Why am I here? What happened?"

The woman stopped what she was doing - sending a message via owl - to fix her with an embarrassed smile.

"Oh, dear. I see that I've handled this introduction rather terribly." She sighed and moved to sit at the end of the cot. "Let's start with the basics, shall we?"

The woman patted her leg affectionately, then squeezed it as she continued.

"You've been in an accident. You suffered a severe injury to your brain, specifically to your hippocampus. You may experience some confusion and disorientation as well as anger and frustration as you recall your memories."

"My what?" She gasped.

"Your memories. It's unclear whether or not the damage to that part of your brain has had an impact on your short-term memories, long-term memories, or both."

With a sad, wayward smile the woman pulled a deck of cards out from beneath her emerald robes and flipped the first card.

Without hesitation, she identified the object.

"A wand."

The healer nodded and flipped to the next one.

"Hogwarts."

Entirely too many cards later, she crossed her arms and glared at the healer.

"What the hell was the point of that?" She snapped. "I know very well that I'm a witch."

"So it seems." The woman responded completely unaffected by her tone. "What's your name?"

"My _name_?"

"Yes."

"This is absurd - it's - I - well - "

Her mind went blank. Her name. What was her _own name_.

"Hmm." The healer solemnly nodded. "Don't worry, my dear, your memory will return. It may take some time, though. Fortunately, I believe your husband is quite attentive to your needs and will be unequivocal in your recovery."

"My husband?" She stammered.

—

Draco pushed through the "Warning: Condemned Building" signs on the double doors and walked briskly into the red-brick wall on the far side of the old department store.

On the other side of the magical barrier, (See: Platform Incredulity of 1991) there were several witches and wizards crammed into the abhorrently crowded waiting area with a wide range of what seemed to be mild - as far as his perspective had been the last few months at least - maladies.

He tapped the edge of the countertop as he passed by the receptionist's desk and into the lift.

"Morning, Mr. Malfoy." The welcoming witch grumbled over her shoulder as she peered at him over the looming pile of paperwork.

Draco gave a curt nod and reached for the upper handle of the lift as it lurched backwards and shot him up to the fourth floor.

He spotted the healer that had been overseeing his wife's recovery and immediately came to a halt at her sunken shoulders and vacant expression. She acknowledged his stiff stance with a wave of her hand toward an open seat in the corner of the hallway.

"She's fine." The healer blurted.

The immense pressure on his chest lightened at that. But only infinitesimally.

"She can't recall anything that happened prior to the accident." The woman continued. "Honestly, I'd be surprised if she remembers anything after Hogwarts. But don't worry, her new scans are promising so it may take a while for her to recover her memories, but I have no doubt they'll return. For the most part."

" _For the most part_?" He hissed.

The healer started on about some deeply scientific explanation behind her memory loss and the general inconsistency of traumatic brain injury, but he simply tuned her out in favor of his own inner turmoil.

He sighed and glanced toward the room he'd spent countless nights in over the past few months. His back still ached from the hospital's hideous armchairs (because despite every effort on his part, the hospital refused to re-furnish the rooms. Instead, they put his rather generous donation toward other non-delicacies.) to the point that Draco had perfected the charm that would alleviate his pain.

"Does she know who I am?"

He tried to hide the concern in his voice, though he was quite certain from the sympathetic look on the healer's face that he's been wholly unsuccessful.

"It's possible, given her memory from Hogwarts remained wholly intact."

"No," he clarified, "Does she know _who_ I am?"

"No," she replied. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Malfoy."

She was sitting up with a book in her lap (He'd made sure to bring several of her favorites so that he could read them to her and bring her some form of comfort during her coma. As it turns out, he'd guessed correctly in that _Hogwarts: A History_ would be the first she'd pick up from the teetering stack when she woke up.) and that signature look of engrossment swept over her face.

"Don't you ever get tired of reading that boring book?" He drawled as he stepped further into the room.

Her head snapped up and he noted a wince give way for an instant before she focused her widened eyes on him in their typical skeptical fashion.

"Malfoy," she sneered.

He refrained from expressing any discontent at the tone in her voice. The one she used frequently throughout their school years.

"Granger,"

He countered with the familiar name and tone he frequently used in their time at Hogwarts.

"Granger," She repeated, tasting the word on her lips. "Hermione Granger."

Her eyes lit up and he felt a flutter in his chest.

"I'm Hermione Granger." She started more firmly.

"Yes, you are."

He turned to the healer and gestured to the door, "May I have a moment alone with her?"

"Of course," she replied with a tight smile.

When the door slammed shut, Granger immediately threw her legs over the bed and tried to stand up, bearing most of her weight on the rim of the cot. She didn't have a wand brandished in her hand (it was back at their home, but she didn't know that) but she still held it out to him in a defensive manner.

"Stay away!" She cried out. "I know why you're here."

"Is that so?" He arched a brow. "Do tell me."

"Nice try, Malfoy. You can't trick me into revealing anything about Harry's whereabouts."

"Potter?"

"Yes," she scowled. "I know you're here to do Voldemort's bidding. I won't help you. You won't find Harry."

"Find… Potter?" He repeated slowly.

Before she could dispel another round of confusing accusations at him, the door burst open to reveal the man in question, followed by a childish figure with equally messy hair protruding from her two plaits.

"Hermione!" He exclaimed, then ran between them to engulf her into an enormous hug. "I'm so glad you're ok!"

"I - " she glanced between Potter and Draco before shoving him back towards the door. "Harry, you can't be here! Malfoy will call _him_. You have to run, you have to - "

Draco watched, amused, as her frantic gaze fell to the toddler clutching onto Potter's leg.

"Hermione?" Potter said. Then, he turned to face Draco with the same quizzical expression. "What is she on about? Who's _him_?"

"The Dark Lord." He responded nonchalantly.

"Oh, Godric." Potter glanced back and forth between he and Granger. "How much does she remember?"

"Not much."

"Well, why haven't you told her?" Potter pressed.

Draco sighed. "I was just getting around to it, _Potter_ , when you so rudely interrupted with your germ-ridden offspring."

" _Germ-ridden_?" Potter repeated, aghast.

"Yes, have you seen where she puts her tiny, filthy little hands?"

As if to demonstrate exactly what he was accusing her of, the toddler sucked on the fingers of her hands before tugging at her father's pant leg for him to pick her up. Despite Draco's repulsive frown, he did so and allowed her wet fingers to poke and prod at the ear and cheek she had access to.

Draco raised a brow pointedly.

 _Piss off_ , Potter mouthed as a reply.

"I'm just saying," Draco added. "Pans would never have brought her to St. Mungo's."

"That's because she's afraid this little one might catch something or cause some unfortunate scandal that might end up in the _Prophet_."

"Her fears are not entirely without reason." Draco retorted.

"I'll let her know you think so," Potter replied.

"Will someone please tell me what is going on?" Granger snapped from her new position at the end of the cot. "Why would Harry talk to _Pansy Parkinson_ for you, and who the bloody hell is that child?"

"Hermione!" Potter gasped. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a set of earmuffs and settled them onto the young girl on his hip before directing and accusatory look at him. "Will you talk to her already?"

"Fine." He snapped at Potter.

Then, his lips quirked into a mean, little smile as he directed his attention at the bushy-haired witch in the hilariously oversized hospital gown.

"The child is Potter's… and yours."

"WHAT?" She screamed.

At the same time, Potter's eyes widened and he threw a defensive hand out to her, "No!"

"HARRY POTTER, I SWEAR - "

Draco suppressed a laugh at the chaos that erupted before him; Granger looked murderous while also maintaining the manic expression of guilt as Potter, ever the doting father of course, attempted to subdue her rants while also fastening the earmuffs to his child's head.

Eventually, Granger quieted down enough to listen to Potter.

"If she's not mine, then whose is she? Is she really yours?" Granger asked, then shook her head and amended herself. "Yes, look at that hair. She has to be yours."

"Hey!" Potter exclaimed.

Draco had to bite his lip to refrain from doubling over. Godric, he loved that woman.

"Oh, no." Granger's hand flew up to cover her mouth. "Harry, _that's_ why you were going to talk to Parkinson for Malfoy?"

"Yes," he replied gruffly. "She's my wife."

"Your _wife_?"

He nodded, then rocked the toddler in his arms before sheepishly adding, "We've been married for three years."

Draco watched as she glanced at the child - conveniently nearing three years of age - and bit back a smirk as the realization dawned on her.

Unfortunately, his amusement was short-lived as her realization directed itself toward other time-related revelations.

"How… What…" She paused and collected herself. "What year is it?"

Potter bit his lip, and turned to Draco with an apologetic frown.

"It's probably best that I go," He offered. "I'll tell everyone that she's ok. You'll owl us when we can visit?"

"Don't count on it."

"Thanks."

The door slammed shut behind Potter leaving he and Granger alone in her small hospital room, both clearly uncomfortable at the looming conversation.

"January 14, 2003."

"2003?" Her frown deepened.

"What's the last thing you remember?" He pressed. "Before the accident."

"I don't even recall the accident." She confessed.

Draco sighed inwardly, but remained standing with a hand resting on the cool metal surface at the end of her cot.

"What do you say we go home and I'll help fill you in over some tea?"

She humbly nodded, then blinked several times and looked up at him with curious eyes. It was a look he was too familiar with: it meant she caught something that he had not intended to let slip.

"Go home." She repeated slowly. "As in, _our_ home?"

He searched her face, memorizing each part of it in case she decided he wasn't good enough for her anymore. In case, she decided, this memory loss would be a good chance to start over without him in her life. To never truly recover all of the happy memories they made together that overshadowed the bad ones from their time at Hogwarts.

He felt the panic settle in as he feared she would reject him. Reject them.

"Yes." He finally ventured.

In the moment that she took to respond, Draco worried that she may never recover their happy memories or the feelings they developed over the last few years, and vowed to himself that given the opportunity, he would ensure that never happened. That she never went a day questioning his affection for her.

"I suppose that's all right." She muttered.

The healer appeared with discharge forms for them both to fill out before they could leave the hospital.

"Now, dear," the woman began.

"Hermione," she cut in. "My name is Hermione Granger."

The healer offered her a wry smile. "Very good, Hermione. You are already recovering quickly."

Then, the woman turned to Draco and flicked her wand so that a box of materials appeared in his hands. He sunk a bit at the sudden onset of heavy weight before managing to mutter a levitating charm.

"Persistive therapy will be necessary. Luckily, most of Miss. Granger's physical injuries have healed so, those will require little attention. However," she fixed her intense gaze on him, "her cognitive recovery is still in its early stages. She should be able to fully recover her memories in time, especially if you are diligent with the memory exercises we've provided for you. Several charms and potions are also recommended in that pamphlet."

Draco nodded his understanding and led Granger to the lift and down to the ground floor where there was a floo in the corner of the still crowded room. He placed a hand gingerly on her lower back to guide her away from the man with tentacles for fingers.

—

Hermione stepped through the bright green flames and into the threshold of what seemed to be a hotel lobby. Upon closer inspection, however, she noted it was the lobby of a very posh flat complex.

The plump, red-faced man behind the counter stood with an enormous grin fixed on her and the tall, blond man beside her.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy!" He greeted. "I can't believe it's been so long, thank Merlin you're doing better!"

"Grover," Malfoy said. "I think it's best if we hold back our enthusiasm a bit. Miss. Granger requires additional time to fully recover. You understand, don't you?"

The man's cheeks deepened in color at his presumptions and quickly stammered out an apology to them.

Hermione, feeling completely lost - as was her near constant state since waking in the hospital that morning - simply offered a polite nod and followed Malfoy into the lift at the back of the room. She tried to avoid eye contact with him through the mirrors surrounding the walls of the spacious lift and instead directed her attention to her dirty trainers. She recited the Laws of Transfiguration inwardly in order to calm her nerves.

Semantic memory was the one thing she found had not been detrimentally affected by her injury, and so, it served as a way for her to cope with her new surroundings. Facts and procedures proved not only well-ingrained, but also quite useful.

For example, if she didn't recall the way the magical world worked, she may have found herself inconsolable at the sight of charmed brooms and dishes flying about the entertainment space of the flat they'd stepped into.

"It's not usually quite this messy, but," Malfoy shrugged and draped his coat on the hanger by the door before offering to help her with her own, "ever since you demanded that we release the house elves, it's been more time consuming to tidy up."

"Oh," was all she said.

In the back of her mind, an image flashed of her providing three house elves with ill-fitting shirts and recommendation letters as she ushered them out of the heavy, black walnut front door.

" _Go on now!" She exclaimed, clasping her hands together as the trio stumbled out into the foyer and apparated._

" _Mother is going to be furious." A voice said from behind her._

_She smiled to herself as arms wrapped around her torso and tugged her into a warm embrace emanating with fresh pine and teakwood._

" _She ought to follow in your footsteps. They deserve better working conditions!"_

_She could feel him roll his eyes as his chin rested atop her messy hair._

" _We_ did _give them better working conditions. Yet, you still let them go." He protested._

_Hermione shrugged nonchalantly._

"I - I think I remember that." She added hesitantly.

Malfoy scoffed, "Of course, _that_ would be the first memory you recollect." At her curious expression, he continued. "You dedicated a great deal of your time to that cause over the past few years."

"Is that why I do? Is that my career?" She asked him.

"No, it's more of a passion, side project of yours. Though, you do work in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." He replied.

"In the Ministry."

It wasn't a question, which Malfoy registered quickly, and nodded his appreciation of her recollection.

"But," she frowned, recalling how she founded the house elf movement while in school (which apparently she had long since finished, though the details of such were fuzzy). "don't you practice the maltreatment of house elves? I remember you as one of my organization's nemeses."

His lips quirked up. "Yes. S.P.E.W. A dreadful name befitting of a dreadful cause."

"If you still hate it so much, then why did you let your - err, our - house elves go free?" She persisted.

At that he shrugged. His grey eyes bore into hers before he turned away and muttered, "You asked me to."

Hermione felt immediately uncomfortable, which he seemed to pick up on by traipsing over to the kitchen and putting some distance between them.

"Why don't you go take a shower and settle in a bit while I throw something together for lunch?"

She nodded and padded off to the right before stopping abruptly at the white door before her. Turning slowly, she addressed Malfoy.

"This is our bedroom?"

"Yes."

"I didn't even know. I just - I just headed towards it without realizing."

He nodded, "The healer said that might happen. Your procedural memory is intact, though you may find yourself questioning how or why you ended up in a particular room."

"Oh."

He moved across the expansive living room to join her in the narrowed hallway off to the right.

"Why don't I… clean up a bit… so that you can stay here. I'll grab a few things and move into the guest room for now."

"Thank you," she whispered.

With a forceful push, Malfoy disappeared behind the door. Hermione overheard several incantations accompanied by the shuffling of objects and drawers before he reappeared before her with a sullen look glossed over his darkened eyes.

She thanked him again, then entered the room. The first thing that stood out to her was the enormous canopy that hung above the equally enormous bed; the sheer, white drapes danced in the breeze that came through the room from the open french doors. Hermione could vaguely make out a city skyline from the balcony before directing her attention to the rest of the room.

Her feet padded on the dark wood floors as she explored the bedroom. For the most part, it was devoid of any indication that it was a room she shared with Malfoy. Even the stark white sheets and walls gave little away.

Then, upon closer inspection, she noticed the color difference on the dark wooden dresser and nightstands where several items must have blocked sun exposure.

Her fingers reached out to trace along the bookcase on the other side of the room and suddenly felt another memory leap to the front of her mind.

" _Granger, you can't possibly think_ that's _the best way to organize the bookshelf?" He crossed his arms and leaned against one of the four posters of the canopy._

_She picked up another book from the box at her feet and placed it on the shelf, then sighed and turned to face him as she reached for another one._

" _It's the most logical way to shelf them."_

_He frowned, "No, my system of organization is much better suited."_

" _It's a good system," She offered with a shrug. "But it's not the_ best _system. Not for our collection anyway."_

" _Rubbish."_

_She smiled sweetly, "How about we use my system for now while we unpack and then, if you dislike it so much, we can reorganize the bookshelf with your system."_

" _Fine." He huffed._

Hermione blinked several times as she took in the titles of the books on the shelf at her eye level. That voice in the back of her head told her this system was the most logical, that it had been her preferred method of organization over the years.

She peeled off the worn jumper and jeans before climbing into the shower and letting the warm water wash away the chill that ran up her spine.

It was unnerving.

The last thing she remembered was apparating to Gringotts under the disguise of Bellatrix Lestrange with a plan to break into her vault.

Now, she stood naked before the steamy mirror of the master bathroom she supposedly shared with her husband. With _Malfoy_.

Everything seemed so foreign and yet… the memories that she'd recovered so far had felt familiar. They felt real. After all, no one had told her any of the things that she recollected, which meant that they could only be genuine. Right?

She wanted desperately to talk to Harry or Ron or _anyone_ from her previous life; the one that was nearly five years old (The unfortunate lapse in time of her memory had been proven true. She'd swiped a _Prophet_ from the reception area of the hospital amidst the chaos and had silently apologized for not legally purchasing the latest edition.) and determined to owl them as soon as possible.

With a towel draped around her, Hermione walked back into the bedroom and approached the large dresser. Her hand instinctively reached for the upper right drawer, but she blinked and pulled her hand back with a single, sharp movement.

After a deep breath, she shook her hand loose and reached out to the drawer again and pulled it open. It baffled her that the part of her brain that stored procedural and habitual mannerisms told her that this was her undergarment drawer - that she would find the socks below it and so forth - while her more conscious brain didn't recognize any of the clothing in her fingers.

—

Cooking had never been his favorite chore, but after years of his mother berating him for not learning the simplest of recipes in order to impress a potential partner, he had come to appreciate the calm that accompanied such a tedious task.

His eyes flickered up from where he was directing a sharp knife over a series of vegetables with his wand and settled on hers.

They were widened. Curious.

"Better?" He ventured.

She nodded. "Much, thanks."

Silence fell comfortably between them as he continued commanding ingredients between the kitchen island and stovetop. Eventually, she cleared her throat and caught his attention once again.

"Who is the Minister now?"

"Kingsley." He replied.

"Oh," she exclaimed.

Draco recognized the tone in her voice and pressed her, "What is it?"

"His reforms are very progressive. He's helped improve the Ministry a great deal since the war." She supplied.

"You remember the war? You know what he's done for society since then?" Draco asked, genuinely surprised.

"No," she countered sheepishly, then pulled a crumpled page of the _Prophet_ from behind her back and placed it on the island counter. "I read about his latest project. I don't remember anything."

Draco fought the urge to console her and stared at the completed dish rather than the defeated look in her eyes.

"I wanted to owl Harry and - "

"I already owled Potter, but feel free to send your own while I set the table." He gestured to the french doors that extended out of their living area to another section of the balcony. "You'll find everything you need out there."

"Right."

She stood and scampered out as he internally reprimanded himself.

At the end of their long, quiet lunch, Granger finally spoke to him again.

"Will you tell me what I've missed?" She asked.

He nodded, "What is the last thing that you remember?"

She bit her lip, then responded, "Gringotts. Horcrux hunting."

Draco racked his brain for the exact place and time she was referring to, then compiled a quick analysis of all that she would need to be filled in on.

He dove into the history of the end of the war, the defeat of the Dark Lord, but decided to opt out of providing her with much of their relationship's history. Instead, he told her of the current realities of their group of friends.

At her furrowed brows, he withheld a laugh and stood to retrieve a pile of books he'd set aside in anticipation of this moment.

"I grabbed these earlier, and I thought you might find them more satisfying than my terrible recollection of events." He handed her the stack of historical books published since the end of the war.

She reached for the books greedily and immediately flipped through the citations at the back of the book.

"I already checked their sources. They all check out, and you'll find them much more to your liking than anything Rita's published on the subject." He smirked. "You may be an insufferable swot, Granger, but you are a predictable one."

"That's not entirely fair, Malfoy, you have years on me." She taunted.

Draco felt his chest expand at the flirtation and indication that he not only knew her so well for years, but that she didn't resent it.

—

Hermione woke with a scream and the phantom feeling of falling in a dark cave. The sweat glued the cotton shirt to her neck and torso, and she flung the heavy cover off of her in desperate need for cool air.

The door swung open to reveal none other than Draco Malfoy standing before her with bare chest and black, silk pants.

"You ok?" He panted.

" _Malfoy?_ " She immediately jumped out of the bed and panicked. "What are you doing here? Where's my wand? What the hell is going on?"

"Hey, hey," He hushed. "Calm down, it's fine. Everything's fine."

He cast a spell from his own wand and a celestial-like representation of her own face appeared in the center of the room, laminating the dark space with soft turquoise.

"Your - our - name is Hermione Granger. You suffered an accident that resulted in traumatic brain injury. The year is 2003. Draco Malfoy is your husband, though right now you've agreed just to be friends while you recover your memories…"

The incantation went on for a little bit, providing much needed information that allowed her heart rate to slow back down to a normal pace. When it dissipated, she met Malfoy's eyes across the room.

"That was brilliant," she said.

She watched as the tension lifted from his sculpted shoulders as his lips twitched up into a smirk.

"It was your idea, actually."

She laughed, "Like I said, brilliant."

His smirk turned into a disapproving grin, then he turned and left her with a roll of his eyes.

—

"CAN WE PUT THESE ABSURD CARDS AWAY?" Hermione shouted.

"They're supposed to help improve your memory recall!" Harry protested. "Come on, you nearly matched all of them correctly this time."

"I don't care if I matched all of them correctly with one hand behind my back and my eyes closed. I'm. Not. Doing. This. Anymore." She growled.

Eventually, Harry backed up with his hands up defensively and retreated to safety behind his wife's figure.

"Harry, what the - " Pansy exclaimed.

She broke off from her conversation with Theo and Daphne to direct an accusatory glare at the man glowering behind her.

"It's Hermione." He blurted out.

"Oh, stop acting like such a child!" She said. "I hardly have time to raise one, much less _two_."

Harry shook his head defiantly, "You don't know what she's like, Pans."

Pansy scoffed. "I'm sure she's perfectly reasonable, now will you bugger off?"

Theo chuckled, "I'm afraid he's right. Draco usually has the same fear in his eyes after a memory lesson with Granger."

"Hush, Theodore." Pansy reprimanded. "Nobody asked for your opinion."

Meanwhile, Ron approached Hermione with a stupid grin plastered on his face and his hands shoved into his pockets.

"You alright, Mione?"

(On the far side of Harry and Pansy's entertainment space, Draco had overheard the childish remark and gagged into his wine glass at the horrendous nickname.)

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her friend and hissed, "I'm fine, Ronald," she arched a threatening brow, "unless you plan on practicing childish games with me instead of treating me like a perfectly functioning adult?"

He threw an arm over her shoulder and lead her toward the remainder of the small gathering and sat with her on one of the sofas, then placed a glass in her hand.

The furious expression on her face lightening and she offered him a small, wayward smile.

"Thanks,"

"Don't worry about it," He said.

Despite her outburst at having to partake in the daily torture of memory cards among other punishments, Hermione was thrilled to be present. She'd been able to meet with friends and catch glimpses at her supposed current life over the past few weeks, but this was the first time that she was able to surround herself with everyone for an entire evening.

Initially, adjusting to the near constant presence of Slytherin's had been painful and awkward. However, she was slowly beginning to understand not only their dynamic, but also their deep connection to each other. It was cathartic to witness Malfoy in his element among his most trusted friends.

Harry and Ron seemed to fit in well enough among this group as well which allowed Hermione to relax a bit in their informal gathering for dinner and drinks.

If Hermione had possessed any previous affection toward Ron romantically - which is what she last consciously recalled - it was evident that it was not still present in her current state.

Besides the obvious fact that she'd apparently married an entirely different person - and Draco Malfoy, no less - Hermione caught a glimpse of their breakup when she first met him for coffee after waking from the injury.

It had been violent, emotional, and filled with loads of shouting, much like their entire friendship had been. However, after they ripped the band aid, they both realized that it was for the best. They were better friends. Luckily, they experienced this realization very early on into exploring their relationship post war so they had been able to repair their friendship easily.

"How do you feel?" Malfoy asked her once they arrived back at their flat.

"Good," she answered. He arched a brow which caused her to avert her gaze before adding, "It was nice. Seeing everyone."

"Not too overwhelming?"

She lifted her head to fix her eyes on his dark, stormy ones.

"No."

His lips twitched into a mean, little smile and she felt her stomach drop.

"Splendid. I'll let Mother know you're well enough to meet for tea or brunch."

"I - what - Mrs. Malfoy?" She choked.

"Yes." He settled into an armchair beside the fireplace with a book and a fresh glass of shiraz. "She's been anxious to see you since you've been released from St. Mungo's."

"Why?" She blurted before she could stop herself.

Hermione fell into the armchair facing his, and watched him cover a wince with a shrug of his shoulders.

"You two were quite close."

"Oh."

It was clear from his stiff posture and clenched knuckles that she was upsetting him and decided not to press the topic further. Why her relationship with his mother was causing him such anxiety was beyond her, especially since she last recalled Narcissa Malfoy being decidedly on the other side of the war and thus far from endearment and tea.

Hermione flipped through the pages of the book she'd picked up the other day (The previous books provided by Malfoy had been completed - and almost memorized - long ago, hence the current periodical in her lap. Thankfully, the Ministry had granted her a long leave of absence on top of her previous months spent comatose in order for her to fully recover while still allowing her access to their private library.) and paused at the end of one of the entries for prisoner sentences following the war.

"Malfoy," she said.

He murmured under his breath then dramatically flipped a page of his novel without looking up.

"Malfoy," she repeated. This time, his silvery eyes found hers. "I represented you during your trial."

"Hm? Oh, yes." He replied, catching the statement for the question it truly was as it was something she did often these days. "Something about it not being fair that I be sentenced to life in Azkaban for my crimes."

"Well, you were a pawn as much as Harry was. Besides, it's not like your crimes were violent or - and there is no logical way the Ministry can withhold _all_ war criminals in Azkaban if you qualify. I mean, could you imagine - "

Malfoy set his book down mid ramble and plucked her book from her grasp, then flipped the pages and scanned the paragraphs for a specific entry.

"Here," he said as he returned the book to her lap.

Hermione read the quote he was pointing to, and choked on a laugh that found its way up her throat.

"Merlin, I _am_ predictable."

"Told you, Granger." He smirked.

She continued to read until she reached the end of the entry of his sentence.

"So, you didn't go to Azkaban." She stayed. "It says here you were given two years of house arrest instead."

"No thanks to you," he commented.

She flushed.

Malfoy placed an old owl message in his page and set the book down on their coffee table for good. It was evident he would not be getting anymore reading done this evening.

He fixed her with an intense gaze, then said, "Granger, haven't you wondered how we ended up together in the first place?"

"I - what - "

"Two people - two very classically polarized people - don't just wake up one day married to one another." He countered smugly.

She frowned and snapped, "I know that." Her eyes searched his for a long moment. "Why didn't you tell me? When I woke up in the hospital."

He shrugged.

"You never asked."

She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm asking now."

"Very well," he conceded. "You represented me and managed to miraculously reduce my sentence. Evidently, it wasn't enough for you. You felt some sort of survivor's guilt, I believe, and visited me annoyingly often at the Manor over the two years."

He paused and shot her a knowing look.

"Your unrelenting presence - along with the fact that you quite literally saved my life - is how you became good friends with my mother."

A small smile pulled at her lips.

"Let's just say one thing led to another and there we were."

Hermione felt a million questions come to the front of her mind, but he shook his head and halted her inner wheel from turning at the speed of light.

"I owe our first love to you. You were - _are_ \- the entire reason I have anything - any happiness - in my life. But I want to bear the weight of our second love." His eyes flickered to the floor. "If it's something that's even possible. I want to be the one who saves you. Who gives you a reason to wake up thankful every morning."

Her mouth fell open, but she promptly shut it again as his eyes lifted to meet hers. For the first time since she'd woken up, the mask he wore was stripped away leaving a bare, hurt expression across his face.

She felt herself leaning toward him; a yearning to comfort him and protect him from any pain washed over her.

They were close enough now that if either had wanted to, they could close the distance between their lips with a single breath.

Hermione thought she saw the indecisiveness behind his silver eyes land on a final decision and waited for him to kiss her.

Except, it didn't come.

Instead, he whispered goodnight then rose and stepped toward the guest room.

"Wait!" She called out.

He turned at the door frame.

"When - when did we get married? Were we happy? I don't - I don't recall wearing a ring when I woke up… what if I lost it?"

He sensed another ramble oncoming and cut in quickly.

"I'd rather not disclose the details of our previous relationship. I would rather you recall the memories than listen to my terrible retelling of what happened. You need to feel the memories, Granger. Not just hear them."

A genuine smile spread across his lips in the dim lighting.

"Yes, we were happy. As Theo would say, obnoxiously so. But as for the ring, you didn't lose it. I have it securely in my possession, and one day I'd like nothing more than to return it to you, but not until the time is right. Ok?"

Hermione had not anticipated that he'd be so forthcoming with information. She nodded and murmured her evening farewells and sweet dreams, then watched as Malfoy - an entirely different man than the one she consciously recalled existing five years ago - disappeared behind the door.

—

SPRING

—

"I have something for you."

Hermione turned at the soft knock on the open bedroom door to see Malfoy leaning casually against its door frame with a cocky grin spread across his lips.

"Is it my wand?" She asked.

"No. Not yet." He replied.

She crossed her arms over her chest, "Well, when _am_ I going to get it?"

"When you stop waking up in the middle of the night spewing threats at me."

She narrowed her eyes, but let her arms drop with a defeated sigh. While those incidents had drastically lessened over the past two months, she still frequently woke in a terror not knowing where - or when - she was.

Although, Hermione has yet to recover more than a few fleeting memories over the past few weeks, one theme had been undeniably clear: Draco Malfoy was to be trusted.

As far as loving him and continuing their married life… well… that was less obvious. But for now, she was comfortable, and really that's what mattered to her during her healing.

He'd been supportive - honestly, a bit more aloof since his confession - and had treated her like an amiable roommate with an odd, unspoken history.

Her eyes fixed on him as he commanded the space in the doorway of her - their - bedroom.

Malfoy strolled into the room and presented a bouquet of assorted office supplies. Her hand closed around the newspaper wrapping and was careful to avoid the straight edge that was ironically bending itself backward in preparation of snapping forward to strike her fingertips.

"Err, thanks?" She said. "I don't go back to work for a while, though."

His grin phased into a more genuine one, "I know."

"Then why…" Her voice trailed off as she gingerly placed the bouquet on the end of the bed and picked up the cardigan beside it.

Malfoy didn't respond, instead he shrugged and left the room while beckoning for her to follow him.

"Come on," he said. "We don't want to be late or Pansy will have our heads for breakfast."

Hermione shuddered at the idea of a furious Pansy and opted not to further question the bizarre gift.

They apparated into the foyer of the manor in which Harry and Pansy reside with a soft crack. Malfoy placed an enormous, expertly-wrapped box atop a table filled with many others and led her through the house and into the back gardens.

Silver and pink balloons moved in a synchronized fashion to the beat of the music emanating from the levitating speakers. Tiny transfigured dragons roamed the beautifully arranged gardens periodically breathing pink glitter.

Immediately, she and Malfoy noticed Harry and Pansy crossing the lawn at an alarmingly fast pace toward the birthday girl.

"ADA LILY YOU GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!" Harry bellowed.

The precarious three-year-old was running away from her parents as fast as her little, toddler legs could carry her. A peal of laughter escaped her as she waved two wands between her stubby fingers.

Pansy suddenly halted with a huff of indignation.

"Ada. Lily. Potter."

Each name a threat.

The toddler spun to face her parents and collapsed onto her behind in the grass. The hand not holding onto the wands found its way into her mouth and was soon covered in saliva.

Harry scooped up the child and pried the two wands from her surprisingly tight grip then handed them to Pansy who sauntered to his side.

"Honestly, Harry, you need to learn to be more authoritative than your three-year-old daughter." She huffed.

He frowned before turning his attention to the child on his hip and cooing at her while adjusting the head of the pink dragon costume she wore that had fallen so that it's gaping mouth had closed over her face.

"Parenthood suits you, Potter." Malfoy sneered.

"Quiet, Draco." Pansy snapped.

Hermione has to stifle a laugh at the pout that presented itself on Malfoy's lips for a brief moment before he resumed his usual smug expression.

"Come, Hermione, let's leave these boys to entertain themselves. I need a glass of champagne."

Pansy took Hermione's arm and looped it in her own. The two of them crossed the lawn to the bar that was set up outside.

The champagne was cold and crisp and was everything she needed in the moment. With a quick glance over the crystal rim, she could see that Pansy was in an equal state of euphoria.

"Ah," Pansy sighed. "Just what I needed."

"I haven't had one of these in… Oh, I don't even know how long!" She remarked with a nervous giggle.

"What do you - Oh - Oh _bloody hell_ , Draco is going to murder me! You aren't supposed to mix that with your potions are you?"

A delicate, perfectly manicured hand flew up to cover her rouge lips and Hermione had to fight the urge not to outwardly groan at the woman.

"You're not going to take it away from me, are you?" She pleaded.

Pansy's eyes softened, "No, I suppose not. Besides, who is he to tell you what you can and can't mix? My mother did it in spite of my father after all and she's perfectly fine."

"I don't know if I would describe Mrs. Parkinson in those words, exactly."

The two of them turned to see who the remark belonged to and were delighted to see Daphne Greengrass appear beside them in all of her golden glory. Her blonde waves falling perfectly down her shoulders with one, jade - enviously the same shade as her eyes - studded beret pinned to hold one side of her part back. Hermione envied the effortless way she not only carried herself, but pulled off the gold satin jumpsuit that clung to her body.

"Daph," Pansy reprimanded playfully.

"What are you two talking about?" She prodded.

"I'm disregarding Draco's - and the healer's - advice." Hermione supplied.

"And I'm encouraging it!" Pansy added before clinking their glasses together and taking a long sip.

Daphne laughed melodically, "Well, I can't say I approve you ignoring advice from your healer, but I do love the idea that you're giving Draco a hard time."

"To giving Draco a hard time!" Pansy cheered.

"To giving Draco a hard time!" Daphne and Hermione joined in unison.

The three of them saluted and took a celebratory sip of their champagne before directing their attention to Harry, Draco and Theo. The latter two appeared to be teaching Ada how to terrorize the former with childish tricks.

Hermione felt her chest heave at the sight of Draco playing so well with the toddler; it made her wonder if becoming a father was something that he was interested in, or something that perhaps they had even talked about, and worried if she was somehow disappointing him with her slow recovery.

He was handling the entire situation unfathomably as it were. His ability to maintain a steady presence while giving her the space she needed to adjust to living with him and sharing a life with him was admirable.

She imagined in another life that it was possible that she could love him. Especially given how handsome and enticing he looked as he currently lifted the girl in his arms and flung her about like an airplane (The way his black tux clung to him also had something to do with the pit that had formed in her stomach, but that was beside the point).

Theo snickered as he made his way toward the trio of women.

Hermione felt pressured to ask the two of them something that had been on her mind all morning before Theo appeared in case he relayed their conversation to Draco.

"Do you two know if today has any significance in my life?" She asked.

Pansy's brows flew up, "You mean other than it being my daughter's birthday?"

"No," Hermione amended. "Not like that. I meant for Draco and I. Does today's date mean anything?"

"Not that I know of," she replied. "It's not your anniversary or anything like that."

"When's our anniversary?" Hermione clutched her forearm, desperate for any information she could get. When it came to their past relationship, Draco was a locked vault.

"Draco hasn't told you?" Daphne interrupted.

Hermione shook her head, then turned and batter her lashes at Pansy.

"Oh, no." Pansy shook her head and pried her arm free of Hermione's grip. "You are already going to get me in trouble for this little mishap," - she gestured to the champagne - "there's no way I'm telling you anything like that if he hasn't told you."

"Ugh!" Hermione frowned.

"Why do you think today means anything?" Daphne asked, bringing them back to the original topic in question.

She sighed. "Draco gave me a gift this morning, before we came to the party."

"What kind of gift?" They both asked simultaneously.

Hermione shifted on her feet and described to them as best she could what he had presented her with.

"I have no idea what that means." Daphne shrugged apologetically.

Pansy narrowed her eyes in thought. "It didn't trigger any memories?"

"No," She admitted. "I thought it would."

"Odd," Pansy remarked.

"It's possible that it doesn't mean anything?" Daphne suggested.

Hermione shook her head, "I doubt it. I mean, he seemed to think something of it. Besides, it's a weird gift to give someone without any pretense, and of all days?"

Daphne frowned, "Why don't you just ask him about it?"

"I did."

"Ask who about what?" Theo cut in with a devilish grin. He placed a quick kiss on Daphne's temple.

"Nothing, Nott. It's none of your business." Pansy chided. Then, she tugged Daphne toward the toddler that was waddling toward her.

Hermione moved to follow behind them, but a hand reached out and held her back. She met Theo's knowing gaze with a perplexed one.

"Draco's a very private person," he said.

She scoffed, "I'm well aware."

"But," he added. "If you need to know something - something perhaps he's less forthcoming about - I know that he habitually keeps his thoughts on page."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "Like a diary?"

His wicked grin returned.

"Precisely."

She wanted to ask him how he knew such a fact but found her mouth unable to pick itself up off the floor.

Though, it was clear Theo noticed her flabbergasted expression and took it as a way to brag about his singular knowledge.

"We shared a dorm at Hogwarts," He smirked. "Only so many secrets one can keep from another in an eight by ten room. Not to mention, he thought _under his pillow_ was the best hiding spot."

Theo rolled his eyes, threw an arm over her shoulder and shoved her playfully before striding forward to stand by Daphne's side as Pansy knelt and spoke to her child at their feet.

"Precious isn't she?"

Hermione turned at the cool voice behind her to see none other than Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy standing before her. She opened her mouth to stutter a - most likely an unintelligent - reply but was saved from having to do so by their son's sudden appearance.

"Mother." He greeted her with a formal kiss on both cheeks. "Father." A curt nod.

"Draco," his mother smiled. "You look radiant, and you," she turned her shockingly warm eyes toward her, "Hermione, you look more beautiful than I recall."

Hermione fought the urge to squirm under the woman's scrutiny as Narcissa's dark eyes wandered up and down her figure (Pansy, via howler of course, had threatened her into wearing a form-fitting lilac dress that did little to help her breathing, but did provide her slim figure with the illusion of curves).

"Err, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy." She finally said.

The woman's eyes glittered, "I'm afraid I'll have to intrude on your time, dear, and demand that we meet for tea. How does next Sunday at noon sound?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but was once again cut off.

"Splendid! I look forward to seeing you then." Declared Narcissa.

"We better go, love." Lucius drawled; by the position of his hand at his wife's waist - and avoidance to meet Hermione's curious gaze - it was evident that he would rather be anywhere than in their presence.

"You're not staying?" Draco asked with an arched brow.

"Oh, no," Narcissa insisted. "I have meetings, of course, and your father," she paused to glance askance at him, "well, business as usual as they say."

Draco merely nodded and the two of them set off toward the house, disappearing into its expansive architecture.

"I thought you said your parents liked me." Hermione mumbled.

He shrugged.

"I said Mother likes you."

"Not Lucius."

Another shrug.

Hermione sighed; she supposed it shouldn't matter to her where on the spectrum their affection of her lied, but something in the back of her mind flickered with the desire to earn their approval, despite not having made her mind up about her own feelings toward their son.

—

The burrow was as Hermione remembered it: several fat brown chickens scattered in the yard, cluttered with items that varied from So Dusty It Must Not Have Been Touched Since The House Itself Had Been Built to Currently Zooming Across The Crowded Sitting Room With The Utmost Precedent, and Molly Weasley harrowing the guests as well as her own kin into abiding by her demands all the while Arthur Weasley seemingly ignored the high-pitched orders in favor of an amusing muggle artifact.

It felt like home.

It was unmistakably the most comfortable Hermione had felt since awakening in St. Mungo's. With Harry and Ron on either side of her in the much-too-small sofa, she felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her along with a breeze of relaxation, despite her current position as the recipient of Molly Weasley's badgering.

"Hermione, dear, do eat something. I'm afraid you've lost quite a bit of weight lying in that bed all those months. I won't have any child starving under my roof! Yes - That's it - Two more!"

She obliged with a tight smile between forceful chews of the tart pastry.

"Mum," Ron groaned. "She's _fine_."

Molly muttered something unintelligent under her breath but decided to spare the children - though, literally speaking, they were very much not children anymore - another slew of demands. Instead, she made herself busy directing a mop around the kitchen in preparation of Ginny's arrival.

"Thanks," Hermione whispered.

Ron offered a wayward smile, "No problem. Really, Mum has sort of lost it these days. I suspect it has something to do with her having an empty nest and all that."

"Or everything to do with that," said Harry with a cheeky grin.

The three of them settled into easy conversation and nearly forgot why they'd all gathered at the burrow when the fireplace erupted into a bright, green flame and Ginny Weasley stepped out.

"Hermione!" She dropped her bag and ran forward to embrace her friend between her strong, freckled arms.

Hermione held her close, sighing contently into the familiar scent of jasmine that was Ginny's favorite shampoo. Memories of their time as flatmates after Hogwarts came back to her with astonishing speed to where she had to physically pull away from the other girl forcefully.

"Ginny," she smiled.

"Ginerva," Molly scolded, hands on hips, "What? Not as excited to see me? It's been - Oh, I don't know - nearly six months but don't mind me. Your own mother - "

Ginny recognized the nervous spiral her mother was about to descend into and hurried over to engulf her in a similarly choking hug.

Then, she moved on to Harry and Ron before pulling Hermione down into a seat at the kitchen table.

"I've missed you so much," Ginny confesses. "I came to see you in the hospital after hearing about the accident, but I wish I'd been able to come home sooner since you've been awake. I'm so glad you're ok."

"I've missed you too, Gin."

They caught up about nearly everything under the sun, from how Ginny's first season with the Harrowing Harpies had gone and her new boyfriend on an opposing team to Hermione's slow recollection of memories and how she was adjusting to resuming her old life.

"So, you're still living with Malfoy?"

Hermione notes the disapproval in her tone with apprehension.

"Yes, why? You don't like him?"

Ginny shrugged, attempting to play it off, "He was never my favorite."

She glanced past the redhead beauty to see her two best friends arguing over who was the better wizards chess player. Older never did mean wiser, Hermione lamented internally. Outwardly, she sighed and brought her attention back to the conversation at hand.

"Is there - I mean - he said we were happy." She stuttered.

Ginny arched a brow and then took an emphatic sip of pumpkin juice (Yes. In the middle of April. That girl _loved_ pumpkin juice).

"Well… I suppose what I'm asking is… were we?"

"If you ask me, I'd say to you're way too young to be settled into a marriage." A wicked smile crept up on her lips. "You should play the field! You're young, attractive - "

"You know, I feel like we've had this conversation before."

In fact, they had. A brief image flashed before her eyes of them a few years younger, lying on the floor of their old, cramped flat with a bottle of cheap wine between them as they hashed out the same argument.

"What I don't understand," she continued. "is why you're the only person, so far, who hasn't encouraged my reconnecting with Malfoy."

Ginny fiddled with the rim of her cup, avoiding eye contact. "That's an entirely different demon that I honestly don't have time for. I'd much rather spend my short holiday focusing on other things."

"But… We were happy, _right?_ " Hermione repeated.

A scoff and an eye roll.

"Oh, you were happy all right. It was downright revolting, truth be told." Ginny turned and called over her shoulder, "Mum! Do you still have those papers on Hermione and Malfoy?"

"The ones after the trial?" Ron interjected.

From Ginny, "Those would be the ones."

Hermione: "Wait what?"

Harry: "Oh, wait! I don't think Malfoy wanted her to know about those."

Hermione: "Why not?"

While, Ginny: "All the more reason to look at them."

And, Ron: "You listen to Malfoy now, do you? You launder his clothes and fetch his morning periodical too?"

Harry, with a scowl and flushed cheeks, "No, but if Pansy gets wind that I was involved in this, I may as well kiss Saturday pick up games goodbye for the rest of the year."

Ron threw a heavy arm around Harry and gave him his trademark lopsided apologetic smile, "Whipped, mate. Completely bent."

Harry shoved Ron off of him and moved to stand behind Ginny's chair and squeeze her shoulders. Molly came rushing into the room with a stack of magazines and papers of all sorts following behind her; she directed them toward the space on the kitchen table between Ginny and Hermione with a swift flick of her wand.

There were so many photos and headlines it was almost nauseating for Hermione to follow along with, but one underlying message was vibrantly clear: she and Malfoy had shared a whirlwind, public romance dating back to when she first represented him in court all the way to their wedding. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ginny carefully slide a few of the papers under the table and whisper-scold Molly for 'bringing them down with the others'. She made a mental note to follow up on that particular interaction later.

For now, she opted to pursue a different line of questioning.

When Molly left the room once more, she craned her neck to address Ron who stood behind her, "I thought your mother didn't like Malfoy and I?"

"She's not your biggest fan, no. I reckon she wanted us to work out in the long run."

"Yeah," Harry added. "I bet she secretly still hopes your memory loss will result in you forgetting what a terrible match you and Ron were."

Ginny seconded his statement.

"Then why did she hold on to all of these papers of us? That doesn't make sense, does it?"

"Well, she may not be entirely fond of your matrimonial decision, but Mum is a bit of a sucker for a good romance story and… well… you get it."

Ron gestured to the stack on the table where the nearest headline read: _SHOCKING SECRETS REVEALED! THE REAL REASON BEHIND GRANGER'S SUDDEN INTEREST IN THE MALFOY TRIAL._

As well as: _GRANGER AND MALFOY SPOTTED SNOGGING IN DIAGON! IS HE TEMPTING HER TO THE DARK SIDE, OR IS SHE TRULY BRINGING HIM TO THE LIGHT?_

"Perhaps," Hermione lamented.

There was a sudden movement of air as a sleek, black feathered owl glided into the kitchen and settled atop the chair to Hermione's left. The familiar voice in the back of her head told her this owl was meant for her. She reached out and plucked the note from its beak, then rewarded it with a gentle rub and some treats from the oblong, decorative bowl in the center of the table.

It read: _Everything ok?_

She sighed and wrote back a quick response: _Yes. I'm perfectly capable of handling myself there's no need to worry about me._

Several minutes went by before the owl returned (Another memory lurched its way to the forefront of her mind and told her his name was Oberon and that he especially liked getting pet underneath his wings. When she did just so, he chirped happily) with another note.

He wrote: _Can't help it. Will you be home for dinner? I'll cook tonight._

Her reply: _Only if you're making that dish we had at your parents, the one with the chilled mango. PS - Maybe if I had my wand, you wouldn't be so worried._

She knew that first comment would help butter him up for her second statement. Another few minutes went by (but definitely less than before).

Him: _You remembered. Also - Nice try. See you soon._

She smiled to herself before tossing his perfectly scripted handwriting into the fire and attempting to resume her place in the conversation her friends were having regarding obscure quidditch rules rather than let her mind wander off to other recollections of notes her and Malfoy had sent to one another.

—

SUMMER

—

A speared sugar biscuit soared across the room and pelted Hermione in the shoulder. She turned to scowl at Malfoy through the raised cup of tea to her lips to see him wearing his signature smirk. The one that meant he was about to either infuriate her through nonsensical taunts or throw her across a piece of furniture and bury himself inside of her.

Whoa.

She blinked a few times and wondered where that second thought had come from. Her mind was still a bit fuzzy when it came to their past - the fact that he consistently withheld any information that would help jog her memory was specifically unhelpful - so, even though she was vaguely aware that his smirk had appeared before he bent her over their kitchen island, she couldn't recall an exact image or memory to support her realization.

Rather than have to delve into _that_ thought process, she glowered at Malfoy.

"What was that for?"

"What year is it?"

Her brows knit together, "2003."

"How old are you?"

"24." She sighed. "Must you always do - "

"Yes." He threw another biscuit. "How long have Daphne and Theo been together?"

"Married or…?"

Malfoy tapped his finger to his temple, considering, then replied, "Or."

She rolled her eyes, then moved from her position of leaning against the kitchen counter to move and sit on the living room sofa.

"I don't know when they started dating, if _you recall_ I wasn't in your house at Hog - "

"Yes, alright. Fine." He conceded. "Married, then."

"Four years, nearly five."

"Do you remember the date?" He pressed.

Hermione - who was tired of his frequent badgering of dates and times of events during the time period with which she had the most trouble recalling - muttered obscenities into her next sip of tea.

"Some time during the fall?"

Another biscuit, this time toward her lap.

"No. End of June."

"I was still correct, then. Nearly five years."

His eyes narrowed, "I wouldn't say correct, Granger. Lucky is more like it." He teased.

"Malfoy, this is absurd, I don't need - "

"Last one." He promised. She waited patiently for him to propose another question, during which he fumbled for something in his back pocket. "What department did you and I work together at the Ministry when we met?"

Hermione blinked, "We didn't work together at the Ministry."

His smirk evolved into a genuine grin, and this time he threw a different object into her lap.

"Very good, Granger."

Her fingers trailed along the vine wood, welcoming the plentiful rush of memories that it brought her, and slid it carefully into her waistband.

"It's about time," she remarked.

Malfoy stood and brushed the crumbs off of his trousers. He gave her a crooked smile as he made his way toward the front door.

"Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone," he called over his shoulder with one hand poised to call the lift to their foyer. "I'll be back in a few hours."

Hermione beamed and immediately set the teacup down the moment his silvery head disappeared between the metal doors of the lift.

She practiced a few basic spells and charms in order to reacquaint herself with her wand. It felt like an extension of her right arm, and in a way, it truly was.

Less than an hour later she was traipsing around the bedroom, frustrated. Every nook and cranny had been searched over the past few weeks - ever since Nott had dangled the prospect of a hidden entryway into Malfoy's inner workings - but nothing had turned up. Nothing under the bed, the pillow, the remainder of clothes in the drawers, etc.

Though, now she had the use of magic.

She imagined it would make her search for his diary fortuitous. That she would find exactly what she was looking for behind some hidden wall, or transfigured book, but again… nothing.

Hermione was about to give up for the day and return to her book on the history of laws that the Ministry passed over the last decade when a thought dawned on her: Malfoy had 'tidied up' the room the day she came home from the hospital without leaving the bedroom. The items - and hopefully his diary - must be hidden in this room somewhere.

Having already attempted _revelio_ numerous places around the room, she succumbed to more complex measures.

Another hour or so later, and Hermione was successful. She brushed her fingertips over the moleskine notebook and noted the date of the first entry: _December 28, 1998._

A small voice - not the usual one that provided her with subconscious insight - reminded her that this was a direct violation of Malfoy's privacy, but she shook it off and read the first paragraph of perfectly scripted writing.

_I fear I have become one of those people. Not the ones who fear anything not marked with the obviously commercialized and utterly false trademark of 'Organic' with the superiority complex of someone who also runs (though probably half walks but won't admit it) marathons on holidays. No, I fear that I've become someone far, far worse. I've become someone who *shudders* keeps a daily diary. This is who I am now. Not the infamous junior Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Instead, the house-bound Infinitely Bored, Draco Malfoy. I suppose I should be thankful that I didn't end up in Azkaban. For life, no less. But still. The Manor is old and boring and deep down it still haunts me. Still reminds me of_ _ him _ _._

Hermione tried not to internalize his pain as she flipped through its pages in search for a very specific date.

The pages seemed to be expanding despite the size of the notebook remaining the same, and it occurred to her that Malfoy had charmed it to allow for an infinite amount of entries in a single notebook. Remarkable.

It was very clever spellwork and, needless to say, she was impressed.

Though, wholly bothersome in regard to her trying to find her needle in the haystack. She tapped the current page she was on ( _July of 1999_ where he complains about melting in the summer heat wave that struck) with her wand and murmured a spell that would help her find what she was looking for.

The book flipped through its own yellowed pages to find the key words she asked it to, and luckily for her, that particular combination was quite uncommon.

It stopped on an entry dated _October 17, 2000_.

She skimmed the page and felt her own version of the memory present itself.

" _It's so tiresome," she complained._

" _What is?" Malfoy drawled, hardly giving her a glance as he was too preoccupied with building a fort from a stack of wizarding cards._

" _The idea that all women want is flowers and chocolate and jewels."_

" _What's wrong with that?"_

_She huffed, "Well, it's just so generic. There's absolutely no thought, no consideration, for her interests."_

" _And I suppose you'd be happy with a bouquet of office supplies rather than roses, then? Or a pair of leather bound books in place of ruby earrings?" He taunted._

" _Perhaps, I would. Those sound like perfectly logical gifts that one would actually_ use."

She felt another memory flash before her eyes, where Malfoy picked her up from her shared flat with Ginny with a bouquet of office supplies - the very ones he recreated for her this past spring, presumably on the anniversary of the original event - and a crooked smile.

Their first date.

Hermione's shoulders sagged and she sat back against the bookshelf with a dumb grin forming on her lips.

There was a deafening thud that was characteristic of the lift arriving at their penthouse floor which caused her to erupt into a flurry and sprint to return the notebook to its original hiding place. When she did so, she caught a glimpse of a brass photo frame and squinted at the image it encompassed; it was Malfoy engulfing her in a hug and twirling her around with her giggling into his neck.

The familiar voice in the back of her mind told her this hiding place house not only Malfoy's diary, but also their precious memorabilia that had once been on display in her - _their_ \- bedroom.

"Granger?"

She frantically cast a spell over the objects and scurried out of the room while throwing a new jumper over her head.

"Hungry?" He asked, holding up a brown bag of groceries.

"Only if it's organic," she commented with a sly smile to herself.

He blinked, "What?"

"Nothing,"

—

The bar was obscenely crowded, but Theo and Draco had managed to secure a quiet booth in the corner to enjoy their Saturday night stag night in peace. That wasn't to say they'd been able to secure such a luxury as an undisturbed booth far from the screaming, mingling crowd simply by name. No, their former identities as Death Eater's did nothing further their status in today's society. In fact, if it wasn't for their substantial wealth - which, remarkably, had endured despite the heavy fines they both faced after the war - they probably would've been turned away at the entrance.

But, as it were, there they sat.

Theo - who had been flicking bits of paper from the straw packaging at Draco when he wasn't looking, then acting like he wasn't the culprit though they both knew he was - took a swig of his whiskey before slamming it down on the table with a loud clang.

"What's up with you and Granger?"

Draco surveyed the room and gave an apathetic shrug.

"You still haven't told her anything?"

"No," he replied.

Another swig, and another slam.

"Well, why not?"

Draco glared at him.

"I want her to actually remember me, not just what she reads in books or hears from other people or myself."

"That's a load of codswallop," snapped Theo.

He remained silent, and opted to play with the rim of his glass between sips rather than talk about this any further.

Theo, however, in his usual way of meddling and never letting anything go until he'd rightfully spoiled it, did not remain silent.

"You're afraid she doesn't love you."

Draco's head snapped up with a glare focused intently on his friends smug expression.

"Why would she?" He lamented.

Theo scoffed, "You're a bloody idiot, you know that? It's not like it took her long to fall for you in the first go around. What makes you think not letting her in the second time will do?"

He tapped the glass against the table impatiently; he'd already asked their waiter for another round and couldn't stand to continue this conversation at the level of sobriety he was currently functioning at.

"You worried that because you don't have a pity case this time, she won't - what - feel the same way about you?"

"Will you knock it off," groaned Draco in response.

Theo's mean, little grin widened.

"That's it, isn't it?" He sat back and finished the drink in his hand, quickly followed by the one the waiter had set before him only seconds ago as well, then said, "I really am the only one with brains between our devilish duo, aren't I?"

"You are not," he snapped, "and will you stop calling us that?"

"What? Devilish duo? I quite like it."

He rolled his eyes, "It's ridiculous."

"No," Theo corrected, in the same tone that a preschool teacher would scold her students, "What's ridiculous is you pretending not to care for Granger as much as you do. Not being with her these past several months has been torture for you."

"How the fuck would you know?"

Theo sighed, "You're a very needy person, Draco, and unfortunately for you, also a completely open book."

He grimaced, "Shut up, Nott."

"I'm just saying, you should talk to her."

"Why should I take your advice, hm?" Draco asked. "Aren't you and Daphne in the middle of a row at the moment?" He lifted his third glass as evidence.

"That's different,"

"Right, ok." He replied sarcastically, and shook his head.

"Disagreeing on whether or not to expand the kitchen AND install granite countertops is decidedly _not_ the same as refusing to acknowledge any past history with one's spouse who may or may not remember being said spouse." Theo argued with the same tone and mannerisms of a drama queen - which Draco would argue was exactly what he was - who had just declared herself HBIC.

"Piss off,"

—

A week later, Hermione stood in the middle of the flat with her hands crossed over her chest.

"You look nice," Malfoy commented as he walked out of the guest bedroom and joined her in their entertainment space.

She was dressed in a mauve, form-fitted dress - with a perfectly matched coat - that stretched past her knees and made it very difficult to walk in, especially paired with the nude pumps.

It had been deep in the back of her closet, but when she touched it to try and assess why something so posh had found its way into her possession, a memory jumped out at her to help explain. The dress and matching jacket had been a gift from Narcissa for her birthday some time ago.

It was perfect for that evening's occasion.

"So do you," she replied coolly.

Which, he did. Draco Malfoy was many things, and smartly dressed was usually high on the list. This time, he wore grey formal trousers with a tight, black turtleneck and black leather shoes. She recognized them immediately as his I Have Somewhere Very Important To Be dress shoes.

"Are you going somewhere?" He asked, raking a hand through his perfectly combed-back hair.

"Are you?" She countered with her brows raised.

He sighed.

"I was going to tell you,"

"No, you weren't." She snapped.

Hermione pulled a crumpled up note out from her jacket pocket and held it up emphatically.

"I received this owl _days_ ago from your mother."

He groaned, "Listen, about that - "

"Were you even going to tell me about it?"

His mouth formed into a tight, thin line and he remained quiet.

"I thought so," she said in a dangerously low voice.

She could feel her blood boil and decided rather than hold back and subdue her anger to lean into it.

"I THOUGHT WE WERE A TEAM."

He stared at her, his silvery eyes widened slightly to reveal dilated pupils.

"I thought that's what marriage was!" She was still shouting at him, her voice ringing through the flat. "I thought it was two people who trusted each other, who confided in each other, who _shared themselves_ with each other."

"I was going to - "

"No, you weren't!" She screamed, throwing her hand out to gesture up and down at his outfit. "You were just going to go. Without me. Without saying _a word_. If it wasn't for Narcissa having an afterthought that I might not know how formal the occasion was supposed to be, then I would be sat here in my _stupid, cat-patterned pajamas_ wondering where the bloody hell you were going in your fancy shoes and you probably would have _lied to me -_ "

"I wouldn't have lied to you." He muttered.

"Oh?" Her pitch too high. "Foregoing the truth is no better than outright lying, Malfoy."

She pinched the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb, then looked at his stiff stance with tired eyes.

"For fucks sake, you've been doing it for months and I let it go because it's not like I had any other option, but tonight? Really?"

His shoulders visibly tensed as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

"That's not fair, Granger."

"No, no, no." She glared at him, now, her voice having returned to its scarily gravel tone. "What's not fair is having no idea what happened to you over the past _five years_ , and then, to top it off, to have your _supposed spouse_ lie to you every day and conceal your history even though he knows perfectly well all you do in your spare time is try to force those memories to come back."

She took a deep breath.

"You make any effort to recover my life, our life, very difficult, _Draco_."

His jaw clenched, "So, why don't you just leave, then? If you're so unhappy with me."

"BECAUSE THAT'S NOT HOW MARRIAGE WORKS!" Another deep breath, though more shaky. "I'm trying, Godric help me, I'm _trying._ Or at least, I'm willing to."

She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself and stop her fingers from trembling.

Her gaze fell on his intense, silver eyes.

"Are you?"

"Yes," he breathed.

Hermione sighed, then shook her head and defeatedly picked up her bag and turned toward the foyer, summoning the lift.

She turned over her shoulder to look at him, the picture of composed fury, and say, "Well, we'd better get going. We both know how your mother can be when people are late to her events."

"Yes, of course." He rebuked, moving to stand beside her.

A wave of guilt washed over her, and even though she knew perfectly well that she was not in the wrong, she decided it would be best to voice her next comment with a softer, more apologetic tone.

"Happy Birthday, Draco."

He nodded politely and ushered her into the open lift without a word.

There wasn't a direct floo from the lobby of their complex to the Malfoy Manor, and so the two of them had to apparate, instead. Hermione supposed calling the lift to the lobby from their flat had been moot, but it had helped her ease the tension from her neck and shoulders which was undeniably constructive when Narcissa's keen eye had taken them in upon their arrival. Though, not entirely convincing.

It was as if they had the words We Just Had The Row Of The Century scrawled across their foreheads.

Nevertheless, she was a gracious host as ever as she lead them from the front steps into the main entrance hall.

Except, Hermione stopped short as a particular room that still haunted her to this day came into view.

She felt her pulse quicken and breath catch as she stumbled backward, clutching her left forearm.

"Hermione, dear, do keep up," Narcissa called, but then seeing her state, instantly became more sincere, "Is everything alright? Wha - Oh,"

Her eyes widened as she swatted Draco's arm and forced him to turn and look at Hermione.

"Yes? Oh, _fuck_."

His observant gaze caught onto the reason behind Hermione's current breakdown much quicker than Narcissa, thankfully, and rushed to her side.

"Hey, hey, listen to me, it's ok. Everything's ok."

He continued to murmur reassurances to her while obscuring the room across from her with his body. His hands found their way to the side of her face, half entangling themselves in her curls while also creating a barrier that blocked anything that wasn't his face from her view. His hips pressed into hers and backed her up until her back hit the wall behind her.

"Look at me," he whispered, "Look at me, just me."

She heard him call out something to his mother through the roaring in her ears and the pounding of her heart threatening to break out of her chest.

Then, his fingers intertwined themselves in hers and the world swallowed them up.

His hands never left hers.

They held her close to him as he guided her across the lobby. They rested against the small of her back as she leaned into his chest in the lift. They wrapped around her wrist as he pulled her into the bedroom. They brushed across her cheek as he smoothed her wild curls.

He took off her pumps and tucked her under the covers, then whispered against her temple, "Get some sleep, Granger. It's ok, now. You're home."

And for the first time in their posh, penthouse flat, she truly felt like she was.

"Hermione," she croaked, breaking her silence following the Manor.

"What?"

"Hermione," she repeated. "You always called me Hermione in private, when it was just us."

His eyes darted frantically across her face, searching for something or so it seemed.

"Get some sleep, Hermione."

He stood from his position next to her, but she was quick to reach out and pull him back down next to her. Her delicate, trembling fingers clasped around his wrist.

"Stay with me," she pleaded.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

His eyes were on her lips.

"Don't leave me, Draco, _please_."

His gaze, dark and stormy, flickered up to search her face once more before he nodded slowly and settled down, cocooning her in his arms.

"I'm sorry I ruined your birthday," she murmured into the sheets.

His fingers reached around and secured her chin between them, forcing her head to turn and face him.

"You could never ruin my birthday,"

Her eyes wandered from his chiseled jawline, to his furrowed blond brows, then settling on his parted lips.

Without a second thought, she took his breath in hers.

He kissed her back with equal fervor, and wound his hands deep into her curls, holding her lips against his.

After all this time, it was just as she remembered.

At least, it was how her subconscious remembered, because her conscious memory still failed to recollect anything more solid than muscle memory or vague feelings.

His lips on her neck were as warm and pleasing as she felt they had been in another, past life.

Even when he pulled back suddenly, out of breath, and looked down at her with dilated pupils, it felt oddly familiar.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

Without question. Without hesitation. She was absolutely sure, this was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.

His lips were on her again and she sighed into them contently, allowing her brain to shut off and let her body just _react_.

She tugged at his sweater, desperate to feel his warm skin on hers. After all of these months without it - even longer for him considering everything - going a moment longer seemed impossible. Frustrated, she tore at the material and ripped it from his neck, then dragged it up his shoulder blades and cast is aside onto the floor.

"That was cashmere," he remarked idly.

She nipped at his jawline, "I'll buy you a new one."

"Well, if that's the mentality we're indulging in tonight," and without further ado he flipped her onto her stomach.

His fist tugged at the material on either side of her spine and thrust it apart until the zipper sprung open. With much more delicacy, he trailed his fingertips along the curve of her back, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up straight.

Then, in another forceful motion and display of recklessness, he peeled the dress down her body and deposited it on the floor along with his own trousers.

Foreplay was all good and well, but Hermione felt herself becoming more and more impatient as he taunted her with one finger, then another, in slow, tantalizing motions.

"Will you _please_ hurry up," she begged.

"Good things come to those who wait," he replied evasively.

"Not to you if you make me wait much longer."

He gave her a disapproving look, but abided and lowered himself slowly into her. Deeper and deeper.

His motions were calculated and perfected to drive her to insanity. It left her begging for release more than once, to which he happily obliged after what he felt was a reasonable amount of torture. Then, he would oblige again.

The sex was better than she could ever remember - and, oh, how she tried - it being between them.

They collapsed, panting, on top of the sheets what felt like hours later. The silence that followed was comfortable, and welcoming.

Hermione, after finally regaining a reasonably rhythmic pulse, turned over and reached out for her wand that had fallen off of the bed some time during her second orgasm. Or was it her third? She couldn't quite recall.

If anything, the sex had hindered her memory rather than aide it in recovering any of their (past) intercourse.

He sat up at her movement, and eyed the closed door with a cleverly hooded expression.

"I should go,"

"No," she flicked her wand to turn off the lights in the room as well as summon two glasses of water. "Stay with me?"

He took the glass from its place of levitation in the air between them and she caught a glimpse of a sparkle in his darkened, grey eyes.

"Ok."

She took a large gulp, then placed her own cup on the nightstand on her side of the bed. With open arms, she welcomed him into nestling against her chest - because she could vaguely remember it was something they did often before bed or when they first woke up - and brushed a hand through his fine hair.

"Goodnight, Draco,"

He pressed a warm kiss to her collarbones and wrapped his strong arms around her waist.

"Sweet dreams, Hermione,"

—

AUTUMN

—

September rolled around along with a welcomed drop in temperature from the sweltering summer heat. Things had been going pretty well for Hermione and Draco, other than another screaming match in which Draco was, again, to blame.

It had been over the anniversary of the accident that had put her in a coma for months and wiped much of her memory.

He had insisted that she accompany him on somewhat of a couple's retreat as a way to explore their budding relationship and spend some much needed quality time together as she had decided to return to work having passed her follow up examinations with flying colors.

The holiday had been wonderful (They'd explicitly kept to the traditional developments of early stage casual relationships by avoiding talking about the definition of what they were in favor of loads and loads of sex).

The return to their London life had been less wonderful.

Hermione was instantly bombarded with diverted gazes and hushed conversation just out of earshot, but not quite out of visibility, upon her return to the Ministry post-holiday. It wasn't as if it had been her first day back, either, which caused alarms to go off in the back of her mind.

Until she figured out what it was that everyone seemed to be dancing around in her presence.

As it so happens, Draco's conveniently timed lovers getaway had been a coverup for the anniversary of her accident.

An event which - no matter how hard she tried - seemed to have been erased from anything she had access to. No one would talk about it (to her). No magazine or periodical she found had any coverage on it. Nothing.

It was infuriating; hence, the row.

However, after nearly being cornered by Rita Skeeter in the hopes of attaining something worth exploiting for a new headliner for the _Prophet_ (Surprisingly, Hermione had been able to hold her own against the vehemenous, ambitious woman and escaped without - hopefully - giving her too much to work with for a full length cover story), Draco had fessed up about the accident.

She understood why he was unwilling to discuss it before; it was very much not his fault, though to outsiders it certainly seemed that way. _Especially_ when Rita was able to twist and conform the story to her own monstrous tale. He'd even confessed to having a (heavy) hand in making sure any print about her accident was discredited and disposed of.

Which brought them back to now, where they had agreed to work on staying together and climbing their way back up the impossibly tall ladder to where their relationship had left off before the accident.

"So, you two are, what _dating?_ " Pansy remarked.

"Yes," Hermione replied with a shrug. "We're taking things slow."

"But, you're _married_." Harry pointed out.

Pansy shot him a threatening glance.

"If you don't have anything intelligent to say, don't say anything at all."

Hermione choked on a small cake, "That's not the phrase."

"Well, it is for me."

"Fitting," mumbled Harry.

Another glare.

Daphne and Theo - their hosts for the evening - were currently playing along with Ada's idea of a tea party, which largely involved dressing up in her favorite dragon costume and stacking plastic tea cups in a pyramidal fashion, and conversing in hushed tones.

Hermione nudged Draco, who had just sauntered up to her side, and nodded toward the suspicious couple, "What do you suppose they're up to?"

"With Theo? It could be anything. I wouldn't think too much of it,"

She noted a knowing glint in his eyes, but decided not to press him any further. He was right, Nott could be up to anything, and it could be something as benign as the true definition of aristocracy or the secret society he was convinced the goblins were running under Gringotts.

The rest of the evening went on as it usually did at their monthly gatherings: someone occupied the child - which Hermione had thankfully been able to avoid the past few times - while Pansy got incredibly inebriated and ultimately either guilted Harry into abiding by her drunken commands or disappeared with him into some room for a suspicious amount of time; Hermione wandered about the house in hopes of recovering additional memories - which in this case was unsuccessful - while also sneaking a few chapters of a book in whenever Draco was otherwise preoccupied; Draco and Harry usually either the mutually avoided their wives or stuck beside them without any intention of letting them out of their sight, which Hermione suspected had led to an inside game that they played.

There was hardly any concrete evidence of the last statement, but occasionally Hermione had observed offhand comments that may or may not have had anything to do with the current conversation they were involved in.

For example, she was sure they were currently referring to their game now.

"All I'm saying," said Pansy, "is that if you're going to represent an entire group of people, you should at least dress the part."

"Kingsley does dress smartly," Hermione countered with a sigh.

Draco smirked, "He's certainly not one for traditional _suits_ ,"

He glanced at Harry at the last word, who responded with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Now, Malfoy, let's not get out of _hand_ ,"

Then, Pansy: "Out of hand? What on earth are you on about?"

Draco: "I suspect you'd like me to _flush_ out that commentary, then?"

Pansy to Hermione, "Do you have any idea what they're talking about? I was simply saying that if he's going to dress the way he does, the least he could do is switch up his color palette. Blue is not suitable for _every_ occasion."

Hermione, with a shrug, "I find it's just best to ignore them, and what does it matter what color he wears or how often he wears it?"

Harry: "Pans thinks anyone who wears the same color scheme three days _straight_ is 'an abomination to the laws of fashion and practical sense'."

Pansy, guffawed, "Are you quoting me, Harry Potter?"

Hermione: "Oh, Godric, here we go again."

Draco to Harry, "I have to say, I agree with her. Especially if someone in Kingsley's position should need to represent himself in front of a _full house_ of reporters multiple times a week."

By now, Pansy had taken Harry by the arm and dragged him away with a scowl across her face. Hermione awaited the scolding that would soon ensue and turned to face the tall blond beside her with an incredulous look and crossed arms.

He was hiding a smile behind firmly pressed lips as he called out to Harry one last time, "Worth it Potter?"

Whatever the boy had responded with died out as he and Pansy turned a corner and a door slammed.

"Care to explain?"

His smirk widened, then he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

"No idea what you're on about, Granger."

"Mhm," she said, then let him snake an arm around her waist and guide her toward the imaginary tea party.

By the end of the evening, Hermione was exhausted. She found herself barely unable to keep her eyes open, which Draco had long since noticed.

He held out her coat for her to put her arms into, and embraced her in a hug from behind as she buttoned it.

Harry and Pansy, looking suspiciously flushed and glowing, were wrangling ballet flats onto Ada's tiny feet and settling her into her carrier with her favorite pink blanket.

Theo and Daphne, looking even more suspicious than the previous couple Hermione had been observing, were standing stiffly before the foursome of their guests with thinly pressed lips.

"What's wrong?" She asked, somewhat bothered no one else seemed to want to say anything.

The grey eyes that had been intently focused on her just moments before, now seemed incapable of meeting her narrowed gaze.

"Why would you think anything's wrong?" Daphne croaked.

"Oh, please, Daph," she retorted, "You two have been out of sorts all evening."

"Well…" Her vibrant green eyes flickered up to Theo. "We do have an announcement."

"I'm pregnant," Theo blurted out.

" _We're_ pregnant," she amended.

Pansy, smirking, "I knew it!"

Daphne to Pansy, "How? I've been so careful to - "

Hermione: "That's brilliant! Congratulations!"

Draco, with a cocky grin aimed at Theo, "You're a shoddy liar, Nott,"

Theo: "I may be a terrible liar, but I'm no better at telling the truth."

Harry: "Are you _bragging_ about that?"

Daphne: " - try and conceal it until we were sure it wouldn't… you know."

Pansy, to Daphne, "You may have superb breasts, Daph, but anyone could have spotted you favoring them. The swelling aches doesn't it?"

Hermione, confused, "I didn't notice!"

Pansy: "Well, Hermione, not everyone is as observantly _gifted_ as you are,"

Theo and Draco exchange a glance, but shrug nonchalantly.

Harry, to Theo, "Well, I'm just glad I won't be the only dad in the group,"

Pansy, angling toward the boys, "Ah, yes, welcome to the never ending torture of parenthood you two."

They continued to congratulate the couple on their expectancy with smiles beaming across their faces and still managed to make it back to their flat before an unspeakable hour in the night.

Draco, stepping out of their bathroom in just his silk pants, cast a devilish grin at her.

She sat up and watched with wary eyes as he crawled from the foot of the bed up her torso and positioned himself above her.

"No," she chided playfully, "Not tonight, I'm tired."

"But what if I want to put a baby in your belly," he taunted with a smirk, "I think I would make an excellent daddy."

Hermione couldn't resist laughing as he planted an excessive amount of kisses around her face and down her neck.

She grasped his head between her hands and looking into his silvery eyes, feeling herself give way beneath their sparkle.

"No babies," she whispered, "At least, not yet."

"Hmm," he kissed the inside of her palm, "no babies, then."

He retreated on his forearms back down her body and stopped at her legs, inching them farther apart so that she straddled his body between her hips.

"How about… other things?"

Before she could reply, his tongue was already flicking at her clit through the cotton panties.

Suddenly, she wasn't tired anymore.

"That depends," she breathed in response.

"Hmm, I suppose I'll have to demonstrate then."

His hot mouth was on her again, and she unraveled at his touch.

—

The manor was unlike anything she'd ever seen; unlike any other time she'd visited for babysitting Ada or for drinks with Pansy and Harry.

It was a haunted house, straight from the pages of one of her favorite horror novelists.

The exterior engulfed her in the fantasy before she even made it to the front door (Draco had already known the kind of theatrical display they were about to get themselves in and had purposefully apparated them to just inside the gates).

The tall, ten-meter high hedges that lined the driveway were covered in cobwebs and spiders (Later, she would find out that Harry had placed them there on purpose and charmed them to slowly trail behind Ron as he made his way to the house). The immediate exterior of the house had been illusioned to appear as a creaky, broken down old manor much like the one she followed Nagini (under the guise of Bathilda Bagshot) into all those years ago.

The front door creaked open, with the arrival of her and Draco to the bloodied matt, and she stepped into the dark threshold following the blood trail that led them deeper into the house.

It was an odd feeling, recognizing the walls and furnishings as those belonging to Harry and Pansy, but their atmosphere had obviously taken a more sinister turn. The paint of the walls were peeling and the broken photo frames hung crooked.

He laced his fingers between hers and directed her toward the main entertainment space that they had been to just a few weeks ago for another one of their gatherings.

Pansy, easily recognizable by her authoritative demeanor as she instructed the house elves to refill the punch and candy, was dressed as Freddy Krueger.

She whipped around to face Hermione with a smile - which would've been quite pleasant under normal conditions, but with her dark makeup and tilted hat bringing shadows to her face, it was sort of creepy - and poked at her jokingly with one of her weaponized fingers.

"You're not in theme," she admonished.

Hermione glanced down at her own costume - a black lacy gown with white powder makeup and stark red lips that dripped fake blood down her chin - then over to Draco's - a vertically striped black and white suit with a ghost hand resting on his shoulder - and frowned.

"This is horror!" She protested.

Pansy scoffed, "It may generically qualify, Hermione, but that doesn't make it scary,"

"You didn't specify scary, Pans," Draco added.

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, her claws extending far out past her fingertips to the point where the floating catering trays of champagne had to swerve at the last minute to avoid crashing into them, and nodded to where Daphne and Theo had just entered into the room.

"Well, _they_ had no problem dressing in theme,"

Hermione turned to take in the new arrivals and to note what Pansy deemed worthy of a horror-esque costume.

Daphne wore a yellow raincoat on top of what seemed like a perfectly normal day outfit complete with rain boots and, other than the makeup of bruises and cuts, it was hardly anything to be afraid of.

She started to protest her point to Pansy again when Theo - or at least who she assumed to be Theo, because really who else could it be? - stepped out of the shadows and glowered behind her. He was so tall that his clown mask stood out clearly above Daphne's red balloon.

Even Hermione felt her stomach drop, despite knowing he wasn't a real threat.

"Oh fuck," she murmured.

Pansy nodded approvingly, "That's how it's done."

"Nobody ever shows up Nott," Draco commented. "Not when it comes to themed parties, that is."

"And with Daphne's weird obsession with horror films?" Pansy added.

They both shuddered and Hermione felt their appreciation for the couple as they gravitated towards them with wicked grins.

She opted not to follow and instead turned toward two other familiar faces among the crowd. More than their usual group had shown up for this event, but Harry and Ron were always easily recognizable to her no matter how large the crowd or how obscure the costume.

Harry, holding a ski mask in one hand and a blade in the other, was emphatically gesturing toward Ron, who had on overalls and several stitches along the length of his face

"Chuckie?" She guessed as she came up to them.

"Hey, Mione!"

He greeted her with a warm hug, then stood back so that Harry could do the same.

"Where's your little one?" She asked him.

"She's over there," he pointed across the room.

Sure enough, there was little Ada. Her two plaits were already coming loose as her wild hair flung about while she chased after a floating tray of cakes.

Hermione blinked at the girl's pink bow and pretty white dress.

"She's - what - a doll?"

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"I thought Pansy said we had to be scary! She didn't even like what Malfoy and I wore, I hardly believe she let her own daughter dress out of theme."

Harry nodded, "Oh, she didn't. She had a fit and tried to wrangle her into some gremlin costume."

"Then, how - "

"She wanted to wear her pink bow, and what was I going to do, say no? So, I pinned a wind-up thing to the back of her dress to make her some kind of scary doll,"

"Dolls aren't scary, Harry," doubted Hermione.

His brows flew up, "Oh, that one is,"

"Oh, yeah," Ron agreed. "Every time I go to greet her or try to pick her up she wails. Completely loses it! Then, I set her down and she's perfectly normal."

"It's only with Ron, too," laughed Harry.

"Bloody mental," Ron pouted.

Hermione smirked, "I bet Pansy had something to do with that,"

The three of them watched as Pansy scooped up her daughter and cradled her on her hip, then slipped her a piece of cake when she thought no one was watching.

"Isn't she not allowed to have sugar?" Hermione asked. "Isn't that _Pansy's_ rule?"

"Yeah,"

They sighed and shrugged it off with a fit of laughter as the mother and daughter wandered off to greet new guests.

—

Draco wound his way through the crowd to find his favorite bushy-haired witch.

"I love Halloween," he murmured into her ear.

She turned with a smile and planted a kiss on his lips.

"Not as much as Theo,"

He looked up to see that Theo was currently popping up beside guests of the party and then running away to either hide or find his next victim before they had the chance to hex him. Even Pansy, who was weaving her way through the crowd with a watchful eye, was unable to catch him.

"Nor Daphne either," he added.

She was currently indulging in Theo's idea of entertainment - though he highly believed she was likely the mastermind behind the trick - and was sidling up to guests and reciting creepy verses in a high-pitched, childlike tone with her gaping green eyes haunting them.

He laughed to himself, pleased with this year's turn of events. It was very different from last year and he was eternally grateful for that.

"I didn't know you liked Halloween so much," Hermione commented, bringing his attention back to her.

"Only recently," he vaguely replied.

She arched a brow, straightening his bow tie, "What happened recently?"

"Well," he said, deciding to give in to his good mood and offer her a rare piece of information, "two years ago, I proposed to you on Halloween."

She stilled, stepping back with parted lips.

"Really?"

"Really."

"But I thought," she stammered. "Oh,"

"Is it coming back to you?" He asked.

She nodded slowly, "Vaguely,"

"Perhaps this will jog your memory,"

He slid a velvet box out from his pocket and lowered himself onto one knee.

Her hands flew up to cover her audible gasp.

"I told you that I wanted to give this back to you, and I'm so sorry that it took so long for us to get here, but I truly couldn't be happier, Hermione, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life showing you just how grateful I am to have you. Will you remain married to me?"

She giggled, and let a hand fall to cup his cheek, "Yes, yes, of course!"

He beamed, and stood to wrap his arms around her. It was quite possibly the happiest moment of his life, and most definitely more rewarding than his first proposal.

"I love you," she murmured into his chest.

"I love you too,"

He pulled away slightly to press his lips to hers; their kiss deepened in their small alcove away from the bustling noise of the party.

His arms snaked around her waist to grip firmly to her hips and press her into the wall. She responded by bucking her hips against his and nipping her way along his jawline and down the limited exposure of his neck.

She breathed heavily, pausing to look him in the eye, with her hands gripping tightly to his lapel, "Let's get remarried."

He arched a brow.

"I still don't have a solid recollection of our first wedding, and I would much rather make new memories than wait for the old ones to come back,"

His lips twitched into a grin, "Yeah?"

"Right, well we can't _legally_ get married again, but I'm sure it won't matter if we host another ceremony and reception and skip over the legal parts."

He nodded, "When would you like to do it?"

She bit her lip, "Tomorrow?"

At that, he outright laughed. It was a melodic, enchanting sound that caused a golden spark to light in her brown eyes.

"Tomorrow?" He repeated.

"Yes, I don't see why not."

"You may not realize this, but you did something quite similar last time."

"Oh?"

"I recall I was still on one knee and I was trying to convince you to wait at least six months, but you insisted you wanted to be wed sooner."

She grinned, "And?"

"And so, we compromised and got married the first of December."

"Well, then they can hardly be surprised if I give them twenty four hours notice, then, hm?"

He chuckled, toying with a loose curl, "No, I suppose not, but you're going to have to be the one that tells Pansy."

Her eyes dilated in horror.

"Oh, hell no, you're telling Pansy."

"Fine," he feign snapped, "then you have to inform Mother."

"Deal,"

He erupted into another fit of laughter, and she narrowed her eyes, glaring at him.

"What?"

"I would much rather have to face Pansy than my mother, _fuck_."

Hermione glowered, "You set me up!"

He picked her up and set her legs on either side of his hips, then backed her into the wall once more.

Any further protest of hers was lost as he took her breath in his.

"You really are predictable, Granger."

—


End file.
